A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,75
recruited him most insistently was Second Almar Mateen, the Jackal. The man had tattoos of stones and crystals on his arms, and Aketo sensed the might of his earth magick before he ever saw the man fight. When he did finally see Mateen journey to the fighting pits, the man’s abilities had chilled him.
While his opponents drew their swords, Mateen would simply crouch and dig his hands into the dirt. Before they could attack, they would find the ground pulled up from under them or erupting shards of sand as hard as stone.
The men he’d spied in the distance wore jackal masks.
As he and Osir ran, Aketo imagined the Plain’s rocky dirt was coalescing into magick-honed blades of stone beneath his feet.
Chapter 16
Isa
A muffled exchange outside her door was Isa’s only warning before the bedchamber door swung open. Eva stood in the doorway, but for a moment, Isa didn’t recognize her.
She couldn’t reconcile this new Eva—pronged horns spiraling back from her brow and wings dappled gold and bronze—with the mental image of her little sister.
It was only when Eva took a step inside and Isa could see her sister’s eyes, still that fiery orange, that both images resolved into one.
Eva’s determined expression faltered as she scanned the room. “Isa?”
“I’m over here,” Isa said, feigning indifference, though she’d been anticipating this. In fact, she’d been waiting since being dismissed shortly after Eva woke up.
Isa sat in the far corner of the room, curled up on a cushion beneath the window, trying not to pick at a loose thread on her shirt. She didn’t bother to rise, expecting Eva would join her soon enough.
She’d woken up a few hours ago to find a large stack of clothing folded neatly outside her door. Unlike the castoffs from Eva she’d worn for the last six weeks, these actually fit. There were long tunics with touches of embroidery, soft leggings, three gauzy overskirts, and a woolen cloak, all in the jewel tones Isa favored.
The clothing wasn’t up to her usual standard, but Isa found she didn’t care. As much as she missed her weekly trips to Mistress Al’Meera, the fey seamstress who made all Isa’s clothing, she was more than grateful for these few pieces than any gown. She’d been annoyed to find her eyes smarting as she inspected each piece, so pleased to have something of her own again.
The tears were mortifying, and she’d been furious at Eva all over again, for bringing her here. This promise of a truce seemed like a trap to Isa, one that offered no real solution. What would they do when Eva and Aketo’s plans to liberate the Enclosure drew their Mother’s attention? Lilith would kill the khimaer they freed out of spite and still demand Eva’s death.
Across the room, Eva hesitated near the doorway. Isa rolled her eyes but smiled with genuine fondness. She was the same worry-filled girl Isa remembered, no matter her physical changes.
“Are you going to join me or just stand there?” Isa called.
Eva sighed, but walked around the bed to stare down at Isa. “Good morning. I didn’t realize you were speaking to me now.”
Her sister was wearing clothes of a similar cut, but in pale buttery yellow that set off Eva’s blood-orange eyes. A fringed shawl was wrapped around her neck, and her hair was freshly braided in a complex design. Isa guessed it was Falun’s work, because Eva could never manage something so intricate.
Isa folded her arms and returned Eva’s frank look with a glare of her own. “We spoke plenty a few days ago.”
“True, but I assumed you had a different set of rules for your incapacitated sister. Now that I am well enough”—Eva paused, sitting down across from Isa—“I thought you might’ve changed your mind.”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a point to that now,” Isa said, still worrying at that loose thread.
At her words, Eva perked up, the beginnings of a relieved smile on her lips. “So you’ve finally seen the wisdom of a truce.”
“I wish I saw the wisdom in it. The law is the law, Eva. We can’t simply ignore that.”
“Why not? If the law has us trapped as you say, what happens if we refuse?”
Isa lifted one shoulder. “When neither of us takes the throne, a war of succession will begin and that could kill thousands.”
“I didn’t say we’d leave the throne empty. What’s to keep us from choosing? What’s to keep the Court and Queen’s Council from finding another way to pick?”